DV at TJs

Tuesdays. Payday, and no work until 12pm. As I dropped off Gavin at preschool, I asked him if had any requests from the store while I was out. "Oh yeah," he said, gripping his pants, "I was wondering if you could buy me more shorts that are easy to close, like these." He showed me the clasp at the front, a departure from the standard snap or button closures he struggles with every day in the bathroom. "Ok, I'll try," I promised. Of the three things on my list - cat carrier, jewelry box, and alternative-clasp size 6 shorts - I thought the last would be the hardest to find. Wrong! After two hours wandering around Target, I ended up at the checkout with several pairs of the easy-clasp pants (also various underpants - boys might have no clothes selection compared to girls, but girls don't get glow-in-the-dark underwear) and no pet/jewelry isolation units.

"Find everything you need?" the cashier asked, looking through my head.
"Well, I couldn't find a jewelry box."
"A large one or a small one?"
"Either. Any."
"We only carry jewelry boxes at Christmas."

I shrugged and paid and huffed back to the car. If I had more time and endurance, I might have tried all the nearby stores for the unattainable boxes, but I decided to just stop by Trader Joes for food.

My TJs shopping strategy has always been very simple; if it looks good, throw it in the cart. TJs is no place for lists and budgets and practicality. I had just thrown frozen creme brulees into my basket and decided my stamina could hold out long enough to get me past the cupcakes when I suddenly made a complete ass of myself. An employee was standing attentively by the freezers, looking behind him and calling to someone. I glanced in the direction he was calling, and became the very thing he was standing guard for; the idiot who might run through a melted puddle of ice cream before the mop arrived. My slipper hit the puddle, my foot flew out, the basket clattered to the floor, and I fell down gracelessly on knees and elbows. The clerk looked horrified as he helped me sit up and realized I was pregnant, and I huffed for a moment to collect the damage report before letting him pull me to my feet. Normally, I would laugh in embarrassment and keep going, but this did not happen. As I gathered my basket, people were yelling across the store to ask if I was okay, and I realized that I was about to start crying, even though I was not particularly upset. I needed to make a run for it. I took one step when an old man said, "There's still ice cream on your shoe! Wait!" and the employee ran off to get a paper towel. "No, that's ok, I'm fine -" I tried to move again, and the old man put his hands up, "You'll slip! Wait, there's ice cream on your shoe!" Shut up, shut up, stupid concerned nice old man! My eyes started burning. The employee skidded back in with paper towels and went at my shoe, so I kicked it off and let him wipe it, then thanked him hurriedly and skittered around the corner. Cupcakes be damned, I needed to get out of the store. I got halfway through the register, wiping at my leaky eyes as if I were just working out a speck of dust, when the manager popped up at my elbow. This was too much, and I started really crying. "It's ok!" I croaked at him as word spread from the frozen aisle and people began yelling Is she ok!? across the checkout stands, "It's just hormones, I can't help it!" They offered to carry my bags, to sit me down and serve me water, to take my phone number, and I waved them away as I frantically punched in my pin number and took my receipt from the confused cashier. The clerk who had witnessed my fall pressed an open box of kleenex at me, so I pulled one out. "Take the whole box!" he said, which made me laugh. I waved the tissue over my head and ran for it with my bags.

Sitting in the car, I saw shreds of skin hanging off my knees and started sobbing. Sobbing with deep, gasping hitches like hadn't done since last summer. At least that time I had been properly upset. Irritated, I started the car and the radio blared to life.

And the daaays come and gooo but my feelings for you are foreeeeever!

"I'm FINE!" I yelled at the car.

Fine or not, I drove home crying, walked in crying, put down my bags crying, tried to explain to Mike why I was crying while crying, and finally laid down on the couch and let it putter out on its own. We watched Beowulf (blaarg) and counted off my contractions until it was safe to say we would not have to name the baby "TJ" or "Organic Rice Cream".

And so Tuesday became Holly vs. Hormones, and I lost. Stupid Tuesday.